


Severus and the Drunk Alchemists

by Stellatrane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:44:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 11,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stellatrane/pseuds/Stellatrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A correspondence between Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Elias Sylvan, Fellow of the British Potioneers Society (and one of Severus' few friends).<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Elias,  
I apologise for my lack of correspondence prior to this, as the school year has only just ended, and I was tied down with marking the usual appalling exam results from dunderhead students. This is not, however, an idle letter - I must seek your advise. I am facing a problem that I do not believe has been seen for a very long time. I am enclosing a copy of my notes on the subject, but, briefly, it concerns a boy who is the subject of a particularly ancient curse. I have been tasked with finding a cure, but the library here is abysmal at best, and I have found little to nothing of any help. It you could raise the issue with the society, I would be most grateful.  
Severus

 

My dear Severus,  
Lovely to hear from you. I won't waffle (although we must set a date for lunch, I haven't seen you since the kelpie affair, and that hardly counts) but in essence, most at the society don't give a rat's fart. They're all either too lazy to dig through the papers, or too old to remember anything. Nicholas might be of use, but he's barricaded himself in Devon - maybe you could wangle his address out of Albus? I'll root around in the archives for you, although I can't promise anything. By the way, who is this boy, and how did he come by this awful thing? Your notes were, as always, very comprehensive, but it would be useful to have some context.  
Good to hear your students are doing well as ever.  
Yours,  
Elias 

 

Elias,  
There is no need for context. You just enjoy poking your nose into other people's affairs.  
Nicholas is apparently on holiday. Albus is clearly loathe to give me his address, but has promised to write himself, which will have to be adequate.  
Do let me know if you find anything, however insignificant.  
Severus 

 

My dear friend,  
How right you are. I am incurably curious, but just a little bit of background can't hurt, can it? I'm up to my eyeballs in dusty medieval parchment, I'd kill for some gossip.  
I wouldn't have expected anything less of Albus, irritating though it is - he clearly thinks you'd pass on the address to me, and poor Nick would be hounded out of house and home by fifteen thousand owls! I've not found much, and what is there sounds like senseless rambling, but I've transcribed it for you anyway, as you're clearly flying completely blind here.  
Let me know some lunch dates - you can't just ignore me and hope I'll forget about it. I will continue to ask you until you give me an answer.  
Yours,  
Elias

Elias,  
Thank you for the notes; vague though they are, it is better than nothing. I suppose it can't hurt to give you some information on the boy, although I do not think it should be spread - doubtless if it got back to Andromeda, she would have my head. Oliver McKinnon was cursed by Bellatrix Lestrange when he was a baby, but it was only realised a few years ago, and Albus has been remarkably slow about acting, not realising the severity of the situation. I believe he thought it was some kind of Muggle disease.  
Do please keep searching the archives.  
Severus

 

Sev,  
Nicholas won't be the only one hounded by a multitude of owls. Lunch. Dates.  
E

 

"E",  
Fine. This Thursday, next Monday, Saturday week.  
"Sev"

 

You are such a sarcastic bastard. Next Monday's good - I know a lovely place down near York. I'll see you then.  
Elias


	2. Chapter 2

Severus is waiting for him at a small table behind the bar, scowling at the very pretty waitress who's hovering a safe distance away. Elias catches her eye and winks, and she blushes before sticking her nose in the air and busying herself with the till. Elias grins. Severus has noticed him, and is looking even more annoyed at his blatant flirting, and Elias laughs at him.  
'Come here you old bat, I haven't seen you in ages!'  
Severus grumbles, but stands and allows Elias to hug him and clap him on the back, although the look on his face when Elias tries to ruffle his hair (like he did the whole way through first year) could probably kill a medium-sized elephant.  
It has to be said that Severus is looking distinctly non-bat-like today, having forgone the billowing black robes and cloak for more Muggle attire - a shirt and chinos. He wouldn't be seen dead in a pair of jeans like Elias, who quite happily slobs around in a particularly stained, ripped pair; although, to be fair, no one really cares when you're out in a barn in deepest, darkest Wales, whereas at Hogwarts it must be quite different. Elias never could understand why Severus went back to teach there - he never liked kids.  
'How's escaping from Hell feel?' he asks, and Severus raises his eyebrows.  
'Heavenly,' he remarks dryly, and Elias laughs again.  
'Come on, let's get a drink, I'm parched.'

Two hours, much food, and several bottles of wine later, Elias feels Severus has loosened up sufficiently to be probed for information on the McKinnon child. The surname seems familiar, but he can't quite recall why now. Possibly the wine was not such a good idea after all. Severus always held his drink well, his glittering black eyes the only sign that he was faintly drunk. Elias, by contrast, has got rather red of face, and slurred of speech, and has started to use rather long words which Severus, unfairly and unsupportively, finds very amusing.  
'You,' says Elias firmly, fixing his friend with a glare, 'are unfair and unsupportive.'  
Severus snorts into his wine glass.  
'You,' he replies, eyes very bright, 'are on the way to becoming hideously drunk, and,' he takes a long drink, 'it is very funny.'  
Elias pouts.  
'I am going to locate a new friend,' he announces, 'someone who will answer my owls, and _frequently_ come out to lunch with me, and won't laugh at me whilst doing so.'  
Severus rolls his eyes.  
'How about the pretty waitress you were eying up earlier, hmm?'  
Elias' face lights up.  
'Severus, my man, that's a _brilliant_ idea!' He lowers his voice conspiratorially. 'Do you remember her name?'  
Severus laughs again, and Elias sighs.  
'You are most unhelpful. I don't know why I still associate with you.'  
'You don't associate with anyone. You lock yourself in that Godforsaken barn in Wales and try your hardest to poison the whole village,' says Severus with a smirk.  
'Lies!' cries Elias dramatically, 'Slander! You'll ruin my good name!'  
' _Good name?!_ ' Severus cackles, very unfairly.  
'I feel victimised,' announces Elias mournfully, 'unfairly persecuted by a sarcastic, bitter old man. Bat. Thingy. Whatever you are, you crazy fool.'  
Severus sighs.  
'As ridiculously funny as this undoubtedly is, I think I should probably get you home before you fall over.'  
Elias waves his hand dismissively.  
'I am _fine_. I will Apparate back to my lonely Welsh barn and go about poisoning what is left of the village.'  
'You would splinch yourself,' remarks Severus, 'and I would laugh.'  
'Wounded,' mumbles Elias, 'mocked by one I trusted. Never,' he says seriously to the passing waitress, 'never trust a bat. They will ply you with wine and stab you in the back, laughing all the while.'  
The waitress giggles uncertainly, and Severus takes advantage of Elias's momentary distraction to ask for the bill. He knows there's a Floo portal out the back, but he's also fairly certain that Elias has never bothered to hook his barn up to the network. His friend confirms this a moment later with a gleeful little giggle and Severus rolls his eyes. Alchemists, potioneers - whatever they're called, they never change. Always willing to get absolutely plastered. 

They end up Flooing back to Severus's house in Spinners End. Fortunate, really, as it contains several vials of his special hangover brew that Elias will down in the morning, groaning loudly from his makeshift bed on the sofa. Severus (although not in the best shape himself) will still laugh at him, although his head hurts when he does. Eventually, Elias feels sufficiently not dead to Apparate back to Wales; but not before extracting several promises from his friend to meet again soon.  
'And by "soon", Sev, I don't just mean within the next couple of years,' Elias says sternly. 'I'll get back to you on the archive stuff as well, there's just so _much_...' He trails off.  
'We mustn't leave this so long again,' are his parting words, and 'Take care of yourself, Sev,' before he's gone with a loud crack that causes a sharp twinge of pain in Severus's head. All in all though, it was definitely worth it. 

It's only when Elias is curled up in front of the telly in his barn that he realises he forgot to probe Severus about the McKinnon boy.


	3. Chapter 3

Dear Severus,  
We really must do lunch more often. I don't see you nearly enough anymore, and everyone else is frankly appalling company. I can't imagine Hogwarts is much better, for all you adore your students!  
Now, on a more serious note, I've been rooting around the archives again. Honestly, all this spending time in London is doing atrocious things to my lungs. Here's some more stuff I've managed to dig up, but to be honest, I don't think it'll be that helpful. Half of it's nonsense, and the other half could've written by a drunk gerbil for all I can make out. As always, I'll keep looking, but I think at this point you'd almost be better trying to devise your own cure. I don't know what those medieval alchemists were doing, but it was nothing useful.  
Yours,  
Elias

 

Elias,  
I fear the main reason everyone else is appalling company is because you've killed them with your "experiments". On that vein, I don't think that it would be advisable to devise an original cure - quite apart from the risks attached, there is also the question of time. We have not got much of it, Elias; the boy is in a bad way, from all that Albus reports, and we need to find a cure soon.  
You were, unfortunately, correct about the notes you sent through. All the alchemists did in those days was, I believe, get horrendously drunk and waste perfectly good parchment and ink on their senseless ramblings. Thank you for your continued assistance - I am well aware that you have no obligation to aid me, and I am grateful.  
Severus

 

My dear Severus,  
Don't be stupid, of course I'll continue helping you. You're my _friend_ , you idiot.  
I wasn't aware that we were working with such urgency. The McKinnon boy isn't Marlene's, is he? Didn't she marry Theo McKinnon when we were third year? That would be a coincidence if he was! I can't remember now if she ever called us up on that favour we owed her.  
Obviously, I will keep scouring the archives.  
Yours,  
Elias

 

Elias,  
I can see through your attempts at subtle gossip-gathering with embarrassing ease. Yes, the boy is Marlene's, yes, she did marry Theo in the summer of third year, and no, we still owe her that favour.  
I believe that I may have come some way in deciphering the notes you sent through - I have enclosed them if you wish to take a look, but otherwise ignore them. It looks like there are several elements to the removal of the curse - spell work and potions obviously, but perhaps some runes as well (far more your forte than mine). I fear we may well have to create some of this ritual ourselves, unless you discover anything more. What there is leaves too much unknown to be practically useful.  
Severus

 

Sev,  
This is brilliant work. I don't know what I can add at present, but I will work on it and get back to you - I'm a little tied up at the moment.  
Elias

 

Dear Severus,  
Is it maybe an idea to meet up and work through this together? It may be more useful, and certainly much quicker, than owls. I think you're still on summer holiday, so why don't you stop by the barn for a couple of days, and we can both go over this - two heads being better than one and all that? Further to the runes, I've gathered a few scrolls, my runic friends being far more industrious than my potions ones, and I suspect you are, as per usual, completely right. What with the time pressure and your dislike of social interaction, I'm going to make plans myself and assume that I'll see you this weekend, and that you will stay with me (the only rooms in the village are above the pub, and they're quite grotty, to be honest). Any major problems, owl me, otherwise I'll see you on Saturday morning.  
Yours,  
Elias

 

Elias,  
That is adequate. I will see you tomorrow.  
Severus


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a stressful weekend, reflects Severus. Helpful, yes - thanks to Elias, he now has a strong base for the ritual - but hardly the relaxed meeting between friends of the previous week. 

The boy was coming soon. Severus would see him, would be able to adjust the potion and would be able to cure him. To finally pay back Marlene, as Elias had remarked, watching foxglove leaves stewing in syrup of hellbore, the harsh purple smoke burning their noses and stinging their eyes. 

_You are brewing when the boy and the woman walk into the dungeon. You ignore them until the potion is stabilised, simmering on a blue flame, and then turn to the child. The woman is unnecessary, and you tell her so. Her lip curls, and she stays put, gripping the boy's hand a little harder. A stupid thing for her to do - the child is already nervous, and the woman's anxiety makes him even more so. His blue eyes are darting all around the dark room, taking in the stone walls, candles in the corners, bright fire under the iron caldron. You sigh. The boy's gaze returns to you, boring into you, making you vaguely uncomfortable - but no, you will not be intimidated by a eight-year-old. That is just ridiculous. You cast some spells over the child, explaining, more for the woman's benefit, what they are and what they do, but the boy listens intently, blue eyes still fixed on you. His condition is worse than Albus' reports led you to believe. His symptoms all match up with what the medieval alchemists recorded, which is a surprising benefit. Perhaps you will not be so much in the dark after all with this Wasting Curse, as it has apparently been unimaginatively named. Once they have left, you work for two nights and a day over acrid violet fumes that sting your eyes, and freezing white flames that bite your hands, until the potion you have left is thick, black, and smells of something between rain and blood. You have no idea if it will work, for even the drunk alchemists never had a person this far gone, but you have done everything you can to make sure this will not fail. Not from any love of the boy, but you tolerated the father, and still owe his mother a favour.  
But there is a great deal of difference between not failing and working, and you know full well it is a difference that Oliver McKinnon can ill afford._

With the help of Professor Babbling, the runes Elias gave him are drawn on the stone floor, the white chalk smearing on Severus's black robes. The potion sits on a silver goblet on a nearby table, smoking despite the charms in place to keep it stable.

The boy had better arrive soon. 

When he edges through the door, a bird circling above him, Severus does a double-take, but Andromeda removes the bird-girl-thing before he can dwell on it too much. He gestures to the circle, and the boy steps inside. Severus is pleased to note that he is careful not to smudge the runes. Explaining the ritual to the child takes the best part of half an hour, but the boy needs to understand, or what little chance they have of it working fades even further to infinitesimal. 

In the next half hour, runes are traced, spells are whispered, potions are drunk, ancient magic is invoked. It freaks the hell out of Severus when the second spell envelopes the boy in blue light, and again when the runes start to smoke chalk-white fumes that swirl around the child's feet, drawing the blue light back down into the clouds, which bizarrely turn a clear orange. If the child is a scared as Severus, he's hiding it well. He nearly passes out when he finally drinks the potion that Severus has prepared, which will solidify the effects of the ritual (whatever those turn out to be). When Severus takes him out to his guardian, who has been waiting outside for the best part of an hour, the boy lasts for about two minutes before he collapses. It's magical exhaustion - the child's magic is weak anyway, but even so, the ritual would have sapped the strength of a fully grown wizard. It's hardly surprising when the boy sleeps through the next day, but the boy's family still glare at him whenever he appears in the hospital wing to check that the child hasn't died or anything equally irritating. The boy will wake soon, and when he does, Severus will see if he failed or not. If the boy will live or die. 

Even for him, it is a terrifying responsibility.


	5. Chapter 5

You did it yesterday!! One whole day ago!! Sev, please, you're killing me here.   
WHAT HAPPENED?!  
Yours, in a panicked state of agitation,  
Elias


	6. Chapter 6

Elias  
I think it worked.   
Severus 

 

YES!! I knew we could do it! Oh, thank heavens above, Marlene would've come back and murdered us if we'd failed. That's brilliant, Sev, just brilliant.   
Is it pushing it to ask for a celebratory drink?!  
Yours,  
Elias

 

Elias,  
Yes. It is very much pushing it.   
Shall we say tomorrow at seven?  
Severus


	7. Chapter 7

Elias flings open the door and throws his arms around the very startled man standing there.   
'Nngffer,' remarks a rather squashed Severus and Elias pulls back, eyes alive with glee at the spectacular feat they've pulled off.   
'We did it!!' he squeals in a remarkably high-pitched tone that reminds Severus of the Slytherin sixth year girls. Elias' grin splits his face in two. It looks rather painful, but Severus can't help but give a small smile back. His friend's joy outstrips even that of the McKinnon boy's twin sister, and she had been almost skipping around the hospital wing.   
'You're excited too,' Elias accuses him, 'you're just too sarcastic and bitter to show it.'   
Severus does grin then - he was right, it is rather painful to smile this wide. Elias ushers him in and plies him with alcohol.   
'A toast,' he announces, 'to the drunk alchemists and their even more drunk gerbil who enabled us to save a boy's life!'   
Severus raises his glass and clinks it against his friend's. They'd saved a boy's life, he thinks giddily, and then is appalled at his giddiness. He shakes his head, and downs the whiskey in his glass. 

'Do you remember,' slurs Elias, 'when we cursed Black'n Potter'n all them with that thing that made their hair,' he hiccoughs, 'their hair pink-'  
'With polka dots,' remarks Severus, looking rather satisfied at the memory.   
'Tha' was fun,' mumbles Elias, 'we should do't 'gain sometime.'  
Severus snorts.   
'That's going to be hard, Black's in prison, and Potter's dead.'  
Elias's face falls almost comically at Severus' words.   
'M'God, Sevvy, how'd tha'... Oh yeah!'  
Severus rolls his eyes at his friend, who's collapsed over on the sofa, clutching a cushion to his chest as if it's his firstborn child. Then the nickname registers in his fuzzy, alcohol-drenched brain.   
' _Sevvy?!_ '  
Elias looks up from the cushion and cackles. Severus groans and slumps further into his very cushy armchair.   
'Do not even think about it, Elias,' he warns, waving his drink vaguely in a threatening manner, 'the only reason Marlene got away with it was because she was five years older than me-'  
'And could snap you in half like a twig,' snickers Elias. Severus grumbles something unintelligible, and settles for glaring at the fire.   
'You look like you're thinkin' deep thoughts 'n' stuff,' drawls Elias, 'but you're just cross cos you can't think've a comeback.'   
The glare transfers from the fire to him and Elias knows he's right. Gleefully informing Severus of this fact was, however, possibly not his best move, as a cushion sails through the air and smacks him very satisfyingly in the face. 

The next morning, his head hurts from the alcohol, and his back aches from falling asleep in the armchair. He is getting old, he thinks ruefully, fumbling around for his wand. He Apparates off before Elias is up, and is found by Albus Dumbledore in the dungeons, having downed several hangover potions and one for aches and pains, and having gained a vile temper in the process. Albus is the recipient of one of his I-hate-the-whole-world-but-especially-you glares as he walks over to the man, beaming from ear to ear. Slytherins have been known to quail under those glares; they stop Gryffindors dead at fifty feet. And yet-  
'Severus, my dear boy!'  
Oh God, thinks Severus, what do you want.   
'I just wanted to congratulate you on a very well-done potion! I'm sure,' and Albus lowers his voice, becoming more serious, 'I'm sure that you don't underestimate the importance of what you have achieved, nor the gratitude that the Tonks, McKinnons and I feel.'  
Mollified slightly, Severus inclines his head in acknowledgment. Albus regards him with those piercing blue eyes for a minute, but then beams again, clapping Severus on the shoulder.   
'Well, I must be off - godchildren to take to the beach! I don't suppose you'd want to come?' His eyes are twinkling when he says it, and he chuckles as Severus's ill-concealed shudder.   
'I thought not. Thank you, Severus, I'm sure Andromeda and Ted will be in touch as well.'  
And with that, the old man sweeps out, leaving Severus to his headache and a pile of research.


	8. Chapter 8

It is very often that Severus thanks the powers that be for blessing him with the discovery of a foolproof hangover cure. There is the mass-produced mainstream one, of course, but it tastes foul, and has the unfortunate side affect of turning your toenails green for a week afterwards. The addition of belladonna essence and Ashwinder eggs, would of course negate that, Severus muses absentmindedly, but then you would be left with that nasty odour that was a bit like Grindylow ears and a bit like what Lily had termed "the suffocating grossness of sweaty, unwashed male Gryffindor" when he had put the problem to her back in fourth year, after Slytherin had won the House Cup that year (and partied well into the next morning about it, too), and lingered about the drinker for days. 

What had brought this to the forefront of Severus's mind was the arrival of a letter from Elias pleading with him to divulge his dark secrets and hand over his hangover cure to deal with the particularly massive one Elias seemed to have acquired (although how one managed to get drunk when one lived in a barn in the middle of bloody nowhere was something that vaguely perplexed Severus). He had no intention of doing so - Elias had been asking for decades now, and it amused Severus no end. The fact that the cure could have been found in any common book of household potions was a fact that he had chosen not to mention to Elias. His friend was clever enough to work it out himself, if he put his mind to it.

Which he wouldn't. 

Severus smirks at his books, and sets about composing a particularly unsympathetic reply. 

 

***

 

My dear, dear friend,  
I need your hangover recipe. You don't understand. I think my head's going to fall off. And then I shall die, and you will have to come to my funeral, and look sad, and say nice things, and I know how painful that will be for you. Please, Severus, I beg of you.  
Yours, very hungover-ly,  
Elias

 

Elias,  
No. It is far more amusing to receive your plaintive missives every time you overindulge.  
Severus

 

Dear Evil McBatface,  
You are a bitter, twisted old man, and I hope the Gryffindors melt all your cauldrons and then explode your precious dungeon.  
Elias

 

Oh most wonderful Severus,  
Please please please my head hurts so much and I think I'm going to be sick please please please...

 

Elias,  
Fine. Here you go.  
Severus

_Enclosed in Severus's note_

The Foolproof Way to Make Hangovers Disappear is...

Don't drink in the first place, idiot.  
Have fun throwing up your guts.  
Severus

 

Most hideous man,  
I hate you. So very much.  
Wishing you a painful death,  
Elias


	9. Chapter 9

It's the first day of the new term. Severus sweeps into the Great Hall and takes his place at the teachers' table, surveying the four houses ranged out in front of him. The boats will be landing soon, and in the corner of his eye he sees Minerva slipping out to go and greet the first years. Most of the older students are already sitting at their tables, with just a few stragglers edging in through the great double doors and hurrying to find a spare space on the benches. The ceiling above them is inky black, broken by white stars, with the yellow candles floating above the students' heads providing most of the light. Severus likes the Welcome Feast. There is an element of pageantry about it that bizarrely appeals to his ascetic old soul; the show that Albus likes to make with his odd speeches and insistence on that Hat, the vast quantities of food, the over-the-top-ness of it all. It's calming, in its own way. A ritual, if you will, for a new beginning. 

The first years troop in, faces showing various states of fear and anxiety, and Severus scans the rows, playing his normal game of Spot-the-potential-Slytherin. He normally gets about three right. Last year it was only two, but Severus thinks this time he can do better. The girl with black frizzy hair and a snub nose has a spark in her dark eyes; the boy two to her right, observing everything with a blank face; the tiny thing at the end, swamped by their robes, but with keen intelligence written over what little of their face could be seen through the taller kids surrounding them. His eyes drift over the rows and snap back to a boy with very familiar blue eyes. He catches his breath, but the hair is brown, the frame a little stockier, and anyway, the boy was only eight, and this child is eleven. 

So, not Oliver McKinnon. 

Severus is not sure if he is relieved or disappointed. He wonders if the boy will be a Slytherin. He looks a bit pale, but they are always nervous. Severus gives an almost imperceptible sigh of irritation; it was just a hat, it wasn't going to eat them. 

He has forgotten how nervous he was, how desperate he had been to be accepted. He is older now, bitter and hardened, and he has forgotten what it was like to be a scared, lonely boy. 

Not, of course, that he wants to remember. 

Minerva is well into calling the names now, and he sighs again as 'Ellison, Oscar,' is announced as a Ravenclaw. 1-0 to the hat. 'McKinnon, Alexander,' sees the blue-eyed brother of Oliver follow him over to the blue-and-bronze table, and Severus conceals a smug smile as dark-haired 'Mistral, Beatrice,' walks over to the far left table. One all. 'Pismire, Unelma,' is a Slytherin, as is 'Ripper, Miriam,' - he would have said the former for Ravenclaw, the latter for Hufflepuff - and with 'Whitlock, Edmund,' being made a Gryffindor, the score comes to 4-1, and Severus has a new low. He stabs the steak that appears on his plate rather viciously, and mutters something under his breath about ridiculous, patched headgear which was highly unsuitable for such a sensitive job, causing Poppy sitting next to him to roll her eyes at Filius on his other side, and Severus's scowl to deepen. He will win next year. 

 

Severus, old chum,  
I presume you're very much enjoying teaching all the lovely new firsties - hopefully some halfway decent brewers will _Slytherin_ to your classes!!  
(My puns, by the way, just keep getting better and better. The sheep adore them.)  
A problem came up at the Society meeting last week - it's to do with that blasted Wolfsbane Potion, something about aconite; it went in one ear and out of the other to be honest, but I know you like the refining research-ey bits - so dull. So non-explosive.   
You should enjoy it, though, it's a "real humdinger" (that gem of an insight from old Bogworthy) so notes enclosed, blah, blah, blah, only if you have time in between strangling the idiots, you know the drill. God knows no-one else will do anything about it - at best it's a mildly interesting academic problem, at worse it'll lead to a "werewolf infestation" (yup, Bogworthy again, the bigoted nutter). I swear, the Society gets more and more useless every day. I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up dissolving it within the next few years, it really is a complete waste of space.   
Anyway. Write when you can; the sheep may laugh at my jokes, but they're not great company, and they've started turning blue. I think something may have got into the water again... Accidentally. Obviously.   
Yours sheepishly (see what I did there?!),  
Elias

 

Elias,  
Kindly keep your puns between you and the sheep. At least they can run away.   
The first years are, predictably, appalling. One has already melted his caldron. It is really quite depressing to think that I have to teach them for six more years. Thank you for passing on the Wolfsbane, however - it looks far more interesting than the abysmal essays from second years that I am forced to read through. I cannot promise anything in the near future, but when I have devised a solution, you will be the first to know.   
Try not to kill any more of the sheep than you absolutely have to.   
Severus

 

Dear Severus,  
I'm trying, I really am, but the sheep are just _there_ so much... God, but Wales is dull. The most exciting thing that happened this week was a fête in the village five miles away. I won a coconut on that nervous thing they do. Scared coconut? Something like that. So now, I'm making a Freezing Draught with it. I don't particularly like coconut.   
Hope you're getting somewhere with the Wolfsbane, but don't worry if not.  
Write soon, I'm really bored here.   
Elias

 

Dear Severus,  
My Freezing Draught has congealed and turned mauve. It is disproportionately upsetting.   
Elias

 

Sev,  
My Freezing Draught has been turned into... Wait for it... HAIRCARE PRODUCTS!!!  
I've enclosed some so that you can experience the full benefits, in all its coconutty goodness.   
Elias

 

Elias,  
My hair turned blonde for two and a half hours, and then started curling alarmingly. It is now very shiny. I look like some kind of demented cherub.   
I am never using it again.   
Severus

 

Dear Severus,  
That is a shame. I really thought I was onto something. Ah, well. The life of a billionaire is clearly not for me. I hope you disposed of my failure appropriately.   
Elias

 

Elias,  
Of course I did. It wouldn't do to have dangerous potions living around where just anyone could come and pick them up.   
On a completely unrelated note, the sixth year Gryffindors do have rather spectacular hair today. I think they look rather charming.  
Severus


	10. Chapter 10

It's coming to the end of September before Severus can properly focus on the Wolfsbane problem posed by Elias. With his marking finally under some sort of control, and the cauldrons being cleaned by a trio of errant sixth-years (Severus smirks at the memory), he can settle down with a glass of wine and a sheaf of papers. He skims Elias's letter from a couple of weeks ago, and almost snorts out his wine. "Something to do with aconite"? Ye Gods above. Aconite and Wolfsbane are the same thing (as he has just reminded the Hufflepuff second years) - Elias must have actually passed out with boredom. Severus snorts again at the image. 

Down in Wales, with rain thrumming on the roof of a ramshackle converted barn, Elias is also sitting with papers and alcohol, although he has Muggle whiskey to Severus's elf-made wine, and his papers are runic symbols rather than lycanthropy cures. He's been in London for the past couple of days - clammy, polluted London, with its narrow streets and traffic and grime that sinks into the skin, lingering like a bad smell. Alas, London is also where his societies have their Headquarters. He'd have left the horrible city before, but he's Severus's unofficial proxy for the Potions society, as the old bat, what with his Hogwarts nonsense, can't come to most meetings. The only reason Elias goes any more is to take notes for him. It's getting intolerable, not just the bigotry and slurs, but the _ignorance_. He can forgive them much, for they are old and will die soon anyway, but ignorance in a society of this calibre! He sighs and throws the runes onto the floor in disgust. He'll pick them up later.  
'Accio parchment,' he says, intending to write to Severus. A second later, a hundred scrolls whack him in the face, and he swears. 

***

Dear Severus,  
I've just got back from that hellhole of a capital. You'll be pleased to hear I've been very industrious, and have attended many society meetings, and been very sociable, and smiled at many pretty girls and fat men.  
It's been so horrible, I can't tell you.  
Anyways, I'm back now, and with copious notes on Wolfsbane for you ( _sans_ the bigotry, stupidity, etc.). Every time, I think the place will be a little better, and every time it just disappoints me...  
I hope Hogwarts is as enjoyable as ever - do give my love to the Grey Lady, you know how she always had a soft spot for me, deep down.  
Very deep down.  
Ah, give her my love anyway, the look on her face will make it worth it if nothing else!  
Best luck with the Wolfsbane - I don't think you need to worry about being beaten to a result, however; heaven forfend the bone-idle slugs should actually work...  
Yours, irritatedly,  
Elias 

 

Elias,  
Thank you for braving the hideous streets of London for me. I am very grateful that I didn't need to go myself. I am less grateful for the existence of the third years, but if they help me irritate you by sending you to London, I shall endeavour to tolerate them.  
The Grey Lady spat at me when I said your name. I have never seen her react quite so violently at anything, ever. She wished "a thousand curses upon that devil-spawn" and then swept off (as much as a ghost can) to terrorise an unsuspecting student.  
I feel as if I have found my new best friend.  
Severus

 

Sev,  
I cannot believe I have been supplanted by an uncouth ghost. I am highly offended. I'd like to see _her_ brave London and the idiots for your precious potions notes.  
Elias

 

Elias,  
I am greatly indebted to you for your generosity and kindness in procuring my notes. Now please could you actually send them on?  
Severus

 

Fine. I forgive you. Here they are. Work hard, Sevvy.  
Elias


	11. Chapter 11

_Ravenclaw Common Room, 7.02pm, 24th October 1971_

'Hey, Elias, fancy a bet?'  
That was how it started. An innocent query to liven up a dull afternoon spent writing Potions essays. Second year Elias Sylvan grins.   
'What on?'  
'No gambling,' says the Head Boy in a bored tone, barely looking up from his papers.   
'Yes, Theo,' chorus the younger Ravenclaws.   
'I wasn't going to gamble anyway,' grumbles the girl who made the suggestion, Azeira.   
'What were you going to say, then?' asks another second year curiously.   
'Well, you know how Elias can make friends with anyone?' Most of the common room snorted at that, and Elias flushed a little. 'I was _going_ to say,' with a glare in the direction of the Head Boy, 'that I bet you five galleons--  
'No gambling,' reiterates Theo, with just a hint of sharpness this time.   
'Fine, a dare, then.'  
Azeira looks over at the Head Boy, who shrugs.   
'As long as it's nothing illegal,' he says, already returning to his books.   
'Where's this going?' asks Elias warily.   
'I dare you to make friends with one of those moody Slytherins.'  
'Oh yeah, because that narrows it down,' snorts a fourth year, and several people snicker. Elias just rolls his eyes.   
'I'm not trying any of the years above, they'll flatten me.'  
Azeira considers this for a minute, before nodding.   
'Fair enough. Why don't you take one of the new firsties then?'  
Elias shrugs.   
'Eh, if it'll make you happy.'  
'Inter-house mingling,' murmurs Theo absentmindedly. Azeira points at him.   
'Exactly. So, lunchtime tomorrow, I'll point out the one that'll be your new best friend.'  
'Alright then,' says Elias. And really, what's the worst that can happen?

 

_The Great Hall, 1.35pm, 25th October 1971_

First-year Severus Snape is sitting quietly at his House table, eating lunch.   
'Hey!' A sandy-haired Ravenclaw is suddenly in his face.   
'Fancy eating lunch with me?'  
Severus blinks.   
'No, thank you,' he says coolly, and goes back to his shepherd's pie. 

_Ravenclaw Common Room, 8.47pm, 25th October 1971_

'He said no.'  
Elias is still in shock.   
'I can't believe he said no!'  
Most of his classmates are trying to stifle their giggles, with varying degrees of success. One boy has given up completely, and is shaking in his chair with silent laughter.   
'So, did you make a new friend?' teases a fifth year as she passes the group. After all, everyone's friends with Elias. Elias, who is currently sounding remarkably like a broken record.   
'He said no,' he whispers to the fire, and the fifth year chuckles and makes her way up to the dorms.   
No one sees the steel in Elias's eyes, but in that instant, Severus Snape's fate is sealed. 

Elias Sylvan will be his friend, or he will die trying. 

_The Library, 12.23pm, 17th January 1972_

Severus looks up as someone hisses his name across the library. Surprisingly, it is not Lily, but that blonde second year boy who seems to have made it his lifetime ambition to be friends with him. Severus narrows his eyes at the boy, giving him his best I-really-wouldn't-go-there-if-you-like-your-limbs glare, and the boy grins.   
It is highly disconcerting.   
'Wanna have lunch with me?'  
Severus regards the boy with the cool gaze of a pureblood that he picked up from the Malfoy heir.   
This also seems to have no effect on the boy, who continues grinning.   
It's starting to worry him.   
'No,' he says, because the boy is clearly touched in the head, and goes back to his Charms essay. 

_Outside the Transfiguration Classroom, 9.56am, 28th February 1972_

'Hey, Severus, want to go to lunch with me?'  
Severus doesn't even look his way.   
'No.'  
Lily looks curious, but Severus drags her off before she can encourage the boy any more.   
'Who was that?' she asks.   
'Sylvan,' sneers Severus, 'Second year Ravenclaw. He seems to be of the belief that if he asks me to lunch enough, I'll actually say yes.'  
Lily sniggers. 

_On the way to the Slytherin Common Room, 8.29am, 8th March 1971_

'Severus!'  
Does that boy ever give up?  
'Move along, Ravenclaw,' comes a smooth drawl.   
Severus breathes a sigh of relief. Thank Merlin for Malfoy. 

_Near the Whomping Willow, 5.36, 28th April 1972_

'That Ravenclaw boy's making his way over here,' remarks Lily casually. Severus groans.   
'Can we move?'  
Lily makes a face.   
'Can't we just hope that the Willow will get him?'  
Severus grins. 

_Great Hall, 12.42pm, 13th May 1972_

'Hey, Sev-'  
'NO!'

_Platform 9 3/4, 12.15, 29th June 1972_

'Have a good holiday, Sev!'   
Lily hugs him, and, after a moment of hesitation, he hugs her back.   
'See you soon, I hope,' he says quietly, and she grins and hugs him one last time before running off to greet her parents. Petunia must have stayed at home, Severus notes absently, scanning the crowds for his mother.   
'Hey, Severus, have a good holiday!' calls Sylvan above the crowds. Severus doesn't even dignify his comment with a response. Ah, there's his mother, in a muggle dress with a faded floral pattern, drab robes slung over the top. He walks over and she kisses the top of his head, smiling happily to see him again. She has missed him - his father hates owl post, so his letters are infrequent and limited to when he knows she'll be alone.   
He has missed her too, he thinks as he grabs her hand with his free one, and walks through the barrier into the Muggle world. 

_Spinner's End, 11.23am, 20th July 1972_

An owl is tapping on the window of Severus Snape's bedroom. No one sends him owls, he thinks bemusedly, but opens the window nevertheless to let the animal in. Good thing it had come to his bedroom; his father would have pitched a fit if he'd seen it, and Severus shivers slightly.   
It's a beautiful tawny owl, and the letter attached to it is written on thick, creamy parchment - expensive stuff. If he had to guess, Severus would say that one of the rich, older Slytherins had written him, though for the life of him, he can't work out _why._  
He breaks the seal on the envelope. 

Dear Severus,  
Just wondering if you'd like to meet up for lunch sometime?  
Hope you're having a nice summer!  
Yours,  
Elias Sylvan

Oh, for _God's sake..._


	12. Chapter 12

_Hogsmeade Platform, 7.14pm, 1st September 1972_

This year, he'll get him.   
It might have started off as a dare, but the boy's refusal had turned it into a competition, and now Elias Sylvan's pride won't let him back down. He catches sight of a dark head making its way over to the horseless carriages.   
'Severus!'  
His head turns towards Elias, lip already curled. Then a red-head tugs on his arm and pulls him away before Elias can ask him to lunch for the 15th time.   
Damn it all.

 

_The Great Hall, 7.53pm, 1st September 1972_

Severus is sitting at the Slytherin house table, alternating polite applause for new Slytherins with glaring at Sylvan on the Ravenclaw table. He had hoped that he might have dropped it over the holidays, but if anything, Severus ignoring him (and his letters) has made him even more determined.   
It's going to be a very long year. 

 

_On the way to Herbology, 10.23am, 15th February 1973_

'He just won't leave me alone! He's more determined than Potter--'  
'Not possible,' cuts in Lily darkly, 'do you know what he did yesterday?'  
Severus carries on, ignoring her, 'he just can't let it go, like the prat he is--'  
'-I walked down to go to breakfast, and there was one of those singing Valentine's--'  
'-completely arrogant, shows no concern for the feelings of others--'  
'-and _twenty-seven red roses_ in the Common Room--'  
'-insists on greeting me as if we're friends--'  
'-spelling out "I luv Lily"--'  
Severus stops ranting for a minute to stare at her in horror. Lily nods emphatically.   
'You may have it slightly worse than me,' concedes Severus.  
Lily just shudders.   
'I'm scarred, Sev. Probably permanently.'  
Severus gives her the compassionate look of a fellow sufferer, and they continue walking to Herbology in silence. 

_Fourth Floor corridor, 2.13pm, 17th May 1973_

There's whistling coming from down the corridor.   
Severus knows that whistling.   
He dives into a nearby alcove, pulling Rastaban in with him. Rastaban curses and tries to wriggle free, but stops when Severus hisses, 'Sylvan,' in his ear with an amount of loathing usually reserved for the Potter gang.   
The whistling grows louder as the boy walks past their alcove. The two Slytherins stay completely silent until the sound has faded away.   
Severus lets out a huge huff of air and pokes his head out of the alcove.   
'Gone,' he sighs in relief.   
Rastaban follows him out, shaking his head.   
'I swear, Severus, that Ravenclaw's got a screw loose.'  
Severus nods fervently as the younger Lestrange casts a Tempus charm and curses again.  
'Come on, we'll be late for McGonagall..'

_Dungeons, just after the Potions exam, 12.19pm, 9th June 1973_

'I don't think that went too badly,' says Severus thoughtfully. Beside him, Lily looks glum.   
'Perhaps--'  
Rastaban saunters up, Mulciber just behind him, pushing Lily to the side. She gives a muffled, 'Eep!' that both ignore.   
'Seems like Sylvan's good luck wishes did the trick, eh?' says Mulciber with a lewd wink that makes Severus shudder slightly.   
'Indeed,' he says, lip curling. Mulciber laughs. Neither boy realises that Severus's distain is directed at them, not the older Ravenclaw.   
'See you at lunch, Potions genius,' snarks Rastaban, swaggering off. Lily falls back into step with Severus, glaring at the two Slytherins with a look that could, if not kill, then severely maim.  
'Slimy gits,' she mutters darkly. Severus lifts one shoulder in silent apology.   
Lily just sighs. 

_Great Hall, 1.46pm, 12th June 1973_

'Se--'  
'SILENCIO!'  
'Detention, Mr Snape!'


	13. Chapter 13

_On the way to Charms, 4.06pm, 5th September 1973_

'Severus! Did you get my letter?'  
Ignore him, just ignore him, chants the little voice at the back of his head. His fellow Slytherins are staring at Sylvan with hostility, and he catches a couple of almost-sympathetic glances thrown his way. And then--  
'Aww, Snivellus has a _friend!_ '  
Because this day literally cannot get any worse, Potter and Black have turned up as well. Of bloody course they have.   
'We are not friends,' Severus snaps through gritted teeth, 'and I have far better places to be than listening to your pathetic insults, Potter.'   
He says his name with as much loathing as he possibly can. Potter just sneers back, but Sylvan looks a little worried.   
'Why can't we be friends, Severus?' asks the Ravenclaw, and he sounds genuinely hurt by Severus's rejection.   
'Yeah, Snivelly, why don't you let the ickle Ravenclaw be your friend? God knows no one else wants to be,' snarks Black to general amusement.   
'Shut up, Black,' snaps Lily, 'come on, Sev, let's just get to Charms.'  
He merely nods, to incensed to speak without hexing something, namely the two pathetic excuses for Gryffindors opposite him.   
'Evans!' cries Potter, and now Lily looks like she might join him in the hexing. And she can cast an evil Jelly Legs jinx.   
'Piss off, Potter,' she says tightly.   
'Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?'  
'What part of "piss off, Potter" was to difficult for your tiny brain to understand?' she says, tone biting.   
'He has a brain?' asks Severus innocently, 'I never knew.'  
Lily fights a smile.   
Potter's face turns an ugly shade of red.   
'Shut up, Snape. No one asked for your opinion.'  
'And yet I gave it freely,' says Severus mock-cheerfully, 'how generous I am.'  
Potter draws his wand.   
Lily draws hers.   
'Okay,' says Sylvan, stepping in between them quickly, 'this has been fun and all, but I think you've all got lessons to be in.'  
'So have we,' mutters one of the girls he's with. Sylvan ignores her, focusing on the drawn wands in Potter and Black's hands.   
'Can we all point our wands somewhere else?'  
'Or just put them away,' suggests Flitwick mildly, poking his head out of the classroom.   
'Ten points from Gryffindor and five from Slytherin for intent to duel in the corridors, and ten to Ravenclaw for Mr Sylvan's quick intervention. Now, move along, everyone.'  
There is no small amount of grumbling from the students, but everyone does as Flitwick says, stowing wands in robes and hurrying off to their respective lessons. Severus and Lily walk into Charms in silence, and Flitwick sighs at them, but says nothing as they take their seats. Lupin and Pettigrew have caught up to Black and Potter, and they've all put their heads together, no doubt plotting something awful. Flitwick looks pointedly at them, but again says nothing until everyone has taken their seats, and he starts the lesson.   
'Today, we shall be working on our Cheering Charms...'

_The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade, 10.56am, 28th October 1973_

'Oh God,' groans Lily, 'Marauders at twelve o'clock. Act natural,' she hisses, and Severus rolls his eyes.   
' _Marauders_ ,' he says scathingly, and Lily nods emphatically.   
'I know,' she says, 'it's ridiculous. They've spent the past month convincing the whole of Gryffindor to call them that.'  
Severus snorts into his Butterbeer.   
'Hey, Severus!' comes an irritatingly familiar voice across the crowded bar, and Severus's head hits the table.   
'Why me?' comes his muffled voice, 'why, of all the people in this school, has he picked me?'  
Lily grins.   
'I don't know, I think it's quite sweet.'  
Severus raises his head to glare at her.   
'It is not sweet,' he hisses through clenched teeth, 'it is irritating and utterly weird and frankly quite disturbing. He kept owling me over the holidays, for Merlin's sake! No one owls me! _He's stalking me!_ '  
Lily is openly laughing now, and Severus groans. He's getting no sympathy from that quarter. Thank heaven the rest of Slytherin see it the same way he does. 

_Ravenclaw Common Room, 5.47pm, 5th June 1974_

Elias is slumped in a chair, eyes on his copy of Transfiguration Weekly, ears focused on the conversation going on between his year mates.   
'I still think he owes me five galleons,' grumbles Azeira, 'it's been two years and the snake won't even acknowledge him.'  
'It was a dare, not a bet,' reminds Paul in a long-suffering tone.   
'Only because of McKinnon's meddling!' she fires back, 'if he hadn't--'  
'But he did,' interjects Paul, 'and you can't just disregard that and pretend it didn't happen.'  
Azeira glares at him.   
Paul sighs.   
'Come on, Zeiry, you can't just change the terms to suit you.'  
Azeira sniffs haughtily.   
'Fine. I see how it is. You've taken your side.'  
Paul rolls his eyes.   
'Merlin's pants, Azeira, it's just a stupid dare-- Zeiry! Where're you going?'  
'OUT!'  
And with that, Azeira flounces off.   
Paul turns to Elias, bewilderment on his face.   
'What did I do? She can't have been that offended, can she? It was just a stupid dare...'  
Elias hmmms noncommittally and focuses on the article in front of him, trying his utmost to be fascinated by an annotated extract from Master Flourent's new book, _The Live Phenomenon_.   
Needless to say, it's a losing battle, and five minutes later-  
'I'm going on a walk,' he announces to the common room at large.   
'Thank you, Elias, for sharing that fascinating piece of information with us,' mutters Daisy Telvin, wrestling with a particularly nasty Arithmancy problem, 'I don't know how I survived without knowing every detail of your movements...'  
Paul, engrossed in Elias's abandoned magazine, snickers. 

 

_The Black Lake, 6.15pm, 5th June 1974_

Severus is sitting quietly by the lake. He's just had another fight with Potter's gang - four on one, so unfair it was laughable, and they had hexed him to pieces. He'd got in a few good ones himself before McGonagall arrived, and then they'd all got detentions as well as the spell damage. The Marauders (and even in his head, Severus sneers the name) had rushed up to the hospital wing, but he'd come out here instead. He could undo most of the curses himself, and Rodolphus Lestrange had unexpectedly caught him in one of the corridors, muttered the counter-curse for several of the nastier ones, and walked off before Severus could even thank him. Slytherins looked after their own; he remembered Lucius Malfoy saying as much when he was a first year. The prefect had gathered them all in the Common Room that first night, the green light giving his white-blonde hair a ghostly quality, and given them a talk on house pride. Cunning was expected, but so was loyalty, and one's loyalty should be first and foremost to one's house. Hence why the older years looked out for the younger ones so much. The rest of the school never noticed it, but in many ways the Slytherins were far more loyal than any Hufflepuff. Nevertheless, Slytherin was not the place to go if you were showing any kind of weakness - so to the Black Lake he had gone, to be alone and weak and--  
'Severus?'  
Oh, for the love of Merlin...  
'What. Do. You. Want.'  
Sylvan comes into view, smiling happily. Then he catches sight of the expression on the Slytherin's face, and frowns.   
'Hey, are you okay?'  
And Severus snaps. In retrospect, it's possibly not entirely Sylvan's fault (or even a tiny bit Sylvan's fault) but he has just had the worst day in years, and this friend-act of Sylvan's is the final straw.   
'NO I AM NOT BLOODY OKAY!' he screams. Sylvan looks a little scared.   
'I HAVE BEEN INSULTED AND HEXED BY FOUR GRYFFINDORS, GOTTEN DETENTION FOR SELF DEFENCE AND NOW, WHEN I JUST WANT TO BE ALONE, I HAVE BEEN AMBUSHED BY SOME RAVENCLAW DO-GOODER WHO SEEMS TO THINK I ACTUALLY LIKE HIM!'  
Sylvan bristles at that.   
'Hey, I'm just trying--'  
'WELL STOP THEN! JUST STOP AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!' Severus's voice cracks on the last word. And still the Ravenclaw lingers, unsure of what to do.   
'Just leave me alone,' repeats Severus hoarsely, recognising the burning feeling in the corners of his eyes and knowing that he's about a minute away from crying in front of Elias Sylvan.   
He's still here. Why can't he just go.   
'Please,' Severus whispers.   
Sylvan sighs quietly.   
'Okay. I'm sorry, Severus.'  
And finally, finally, he leaves him alone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Part 1 of The Great Sheep Debacle**  
•••

My dear Severus,  
I may have a slight problem.   
It appears the sheep actually belong to someone. A muggle farmer, in fact, who isn't best pleased that his flock are rainbow-coloured and sprouting spikes. Now, he doesn't know it's me, (and isn't _Obliviate_ a handy charm?) but the thing is, Sev, I'm the only wizard out here, so I need to turn them back before this gets to the Ministry, only I haven't got a clue how to.   
So. It's a minor problem, but quite an urgent minor problem. However, I know that you are, deep down, a lovely person who will not abandon his dearest friend in his hour of need, and you will ride to my aid like like the scrawny knight in billowing black that you are.   
Won't you.   
Knowing that I will see you _very soon_ ,  
Elias

 

When Severus finally turns up, a whole week after Elias wrote to him, the first thing he does is spend ten minutes laughing hysterically at the poor, unfortunate sheep that surround Elias's barn.   
'They're... _sparkly_...' he gasps, clutching his stomach. Elias huffs, a little miffed that Severus is not taking the situation as seriously as it undoubtedly is. Then the lambs start skipping past, twirling with every third step, and Severus is laughing so hard he goes completely silent, tears rolling down his face.   
He has to lie down before he can be made to talk sensibly.   
It's a quarter of an hour later that Elias asks him if he's finally capable of speaking coherently.  
'Yes,' says Severus, assuming a funereal expression. Elias's right eye starts twitching.   
'So, can you help?'  
'Yes. I think. I hate to say it,' admits his friend, mouth curving alarming at the corners, 'but we may have to catch one of your rainbow unicorn sheep to experiment on before...'  
'Ah. Yes. Right.'  
There's a short pause.   
'Severus?'  
'Yes?'  
'How in Merlin's name does one catch a sheep?'

•••

One does not catch a sheep, thinks Elias as they chase the little demons around the field, one humiliates oneself to the greatest of one's abilities whilst the fluffy midget devils skip around happily, _just out of bloody reach_ \---  
'AAAAHHHHH!'  
Oh great. Now Severus had fallen into a pile of mud.   
'That,' pants Elias, 'was a surprising girly scream.'  
Severus says a word that would have curled McGonagall's hair as he staggers to his feet, takes a step forward, and promptly slips back into the mud.   
'This,' he hisses through gritted teeth, 'was not how I wanted to spend my Christmas.'  
'Alas,' sighs Elias, 'some things are just--'  
'Come down to Wales, you said! It'll be fun, you said! _A MINOR PROBLEM, YOU SAID!_ '  
'Yeeees,' hedges Elias, 'I may have, um, underestimated the, ah, _complexity_ of the situation...'  
'COMPLEXITY!! IT'S _IMPOSSIBLE!!_ '  
Elias gives a horrified gasp.   
'Severus Snape, take back that awful word this instant!'  
Severus screams something incoherent, moves forward to hex him, and falls into the mud for a third time.   
Elias sniggers.

•••

Later, when the whole escapade has been given up after Severus stopped trying to catch sheep and instead started attempting to throttle Elias, the two men are sitting in front of the big open fire in the living room, Severus buried under a mound of soft blankets, and claiming he has pneumonia.   
'I wonder if we could try just summoning them,' remarks Elias thoughtfully, hands wrapped around a mug of hot, strong tea.   
There is silence from the fluffy blanket pile.   
'Sev?'  
A furious face emerges.   
_'What do you mean, we can bloody summon them?!_ '  
The lack of mud in the barn means that Severus actually does hex Elias this time, and he goes around for the rest of the evening with foot-long toenails and a huge purple Afro. 

•••

'Accio sheep!'  
'Maybe I should try.'  
'Why, because the fact that you're a Ravenclaw automatically makes your spells better than mine?'  
'No, it's actually because you're pathetic at Charms--'  
' _I am not pathetic at Charms_ \--'  
'Then why is there not a sheep here after you summoned one?'  
'WELL I DON'T KNOW--'  
'ACCIO SHEEP!'  
'Well, that worked _fabulously_ well.'  
'Shut up.'

•••

'They're too far gone.'  
Elias shakes himself out of the stupor he's fallen into.   
'What?'  
'They're too far gone!'  
Elias blinks.   
'Sevvy, you're gonna have to give me a bit more to go on.'  
Severus sighs irritably.   
'The sheep, I mean. What if they're so far removed from what a sheep should be that magic doesn't recognise them as sheep anymore?'  
'And so when we try to summon sheep...' Elias trails off.  
Severus's eyes gleam fanatically.   
'Exactly.'  
Elias frowns.   
'What do we summon then?'

•••

'Accio rainbow sparkly unicorn sheep!'  
'Accio rainbow-coloured sheep-like animals!'  
'Accio fluffy spiky things!'  
'Accio four-legged skippy devils!'  
'Accio the reason I fell over in the mud _three times_ yesterday!'  
'Accio the reason Severus has _not stopped complaining_ \--'  
'Accio the reason Elias forced me down here to deal with his petty little problems--'  
'Accio the reason why Severus has, unfairly and unjustly, been trying to hex me senseless--'

•••

'I'm not sure that worked as well as it could have done,' says Elias pensively.   
Severus decides not to dignify such an inane comment with a reply, and so gives his patented Snort of Derision (No.3) and continues reading _The Practical Potioneer._  
'So what are we going to do now?'  
Severus, still reading, arches an eyebrow.   
'We?'  
'Aw, come on Severus, we can't give up now! Quite apart from the fact I'll get a ridiculously heavy fine from the blasted Ministry, you've got to admit it's quite a fun little problem.'  
Severus raises his head to give Elias his You-Are-A-Moron-And-I-Would-Chop-You-Up-For-Potions-Ingredients-If-It-Were-Legal look.   
Elias visibly deflates.   
'What about if I promise to catch the sheep?'  
Severus narrows his eyes.   
'You don't have to go outside at all,' wheedles his friend, 'I'll catch the little demons and you can do the diagnostics and then we'll brew the antidotes.'  
Severus considers.   
'No mud?'  
'No mud.'  
'Fine,' he sighs magnanimously.   
Elias looks unutterably relieved.


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 2 of The Great Sheep Debacle**

•••

'MERLIN'S BALLS!'

'Having a little trouble, Elias?' Severus inquires calmly from his seat in the kitchen, staring out through the glass double doors into the carnage in the field.

'BLOODY-'

'Now, now,' admonishes Severus, an evil little grin playing on his lips, 'there is no call for language of that sort.'

Elias, in response, lets out a stream of expletives. Severus sighs in mock disappointment.

'Just because you have a little bit of mud on your clothes does not excuse the foul words-'

'I AM COVERED IN SHEEP POO, YOU COMPLETE ARSE!'

Severus gives an elegant, one-shouldered shrug.

'I wasn't the one who came up with the agreement,' he says cheerfully.

Elias looks ready to spit out a particularly venomous reply, then frowns in confusion and looks up at the sky.

'Was that rain I felt?'

'I wouldn't know,' replies Severus airily, a smug undertone to his words.

'Oh, go boil your head,' snaps Elias, still frowning at the clouds, 'if it starts raining, I'm going to-'

'You're going to what? Shout at it?'

'I hate you.'

With a certain inevitability, it does then start raining.

Quite hard actually, as Elias yells, banging on the doors that Severus has, cackling, locked in his face. The Slytherin remains inside, sipping his coffee and watching his friend slowly get wetter and wetter, until he resembles nothing so much as a sodden rat, blonde hair plastered to his scalp, baleful eyes glaring at him through the glass.

•••

'Severus,' comes Elias's sing-song voice, 'wakey-wakey! I have a present for you!

'Mmmffawhatisit,' mumbles Severus, emerging from the depths of sleep.

Something heavy lands on him. Something heavy and warm and smelly and spiky and _alive._

'AAAAHHHH!'

'Yet again, Sev, you surprise me with the girliness of your shrieks,' snickers Elias.

'THERE'S ONE OF YOUR MUTANT SPARKLY DEMON SHEEP ON MY BED!'

'Indeed there is. It's called revenge, Sevvy.'

'GET IT BLOODY OFF ME OR I SWEAR-'

'Oh, hush your whinging,' sighs the Ravenclaw, 'Lulabelle's not hurting you.'

' _LULABELLE?!_ '

'Ooh, I didn't think it was possible for you to go that high. Learn something new every day, don't you?'

•••

'Let's look an the bright side,' says Elias cheerfully over breakfast, 'I caught a sheep for you! We can cure them and make sure the Ministry doesn't lynch me!'

Severus, whose face is blacker than the storm of last night, really doesn't think he'd mind an Elias-lynching right now. Hell, he'd probably be leading the mob.

'Stop plotting my murder,' chides his friend, an irrepressibly big grin on his face as he tucks into eggs and bacon.

Severus scowls at him (and a very terrifying scowl it is too - No.4, capable of making small children cry) and sips his orange juice in a way that promises death to all foolish enough to breathe in his presence.

Elias giggles.

Severus scowls some more, downs his juice and stands.

'Right. Fetch your rainbow sparkly demon sheep and let's get this over with.'

'Don't call her a demon!' cries Elias, 'you're not a demon, are you?' he coos to something under the table.

Severus pales.

'Is it under the bloody table?' he hisses, backing away even as he speaks.

A sparkly, horned head emerges from beneath the tablecloth.

'Lulabelle's not an it, are you sweetums,' says Elias, petting the sheep, 'you're a very beautiful mutant sheep, yes you are!'

Severus straightens in an attempt to show how little he is frightened of the murderous beast being stroked by his (clearly completely insane) friend.

'When you have quite finished,' he says, eyes never leaving Lulabelle, 'I will be in the shed, ready for the diagnostics.'

Lulabelle glares at him.

'And tell your mutant demon to stop giving me the evil eye,' he adds as he leaves. Elias swears he hears him mutter, 'that's my job,' as he goes.

Lulabelle gets an extra piece of toast for that.

•••

'Great Merlin and Morgana, what did you do to these things?' asks Severus, looking askance at his friend, who is currently shuffling his feet and looking guilty.

'Well that's sort of what we're - you're -trying to find out...' he mumbles shiftily, looking at the ground.

'A Plinkifort potion? On sheep?!'

'Ah, yes, I do remember that,' says Elias thoughtfully, 'I chucked out one of the failed batches and it must have gotten into their water supply...'

Severus turns around and smacks him over the head.

'Ow!' cries Elias, looking injured and rubbing the back of his head.

'You utter moron! I've met Flobberworms with more sense than you!'

'Well it's not my... Actually, it kind of is my fault, isn't it?' says Elias pensively.

Severus groans.

'It's completely your fault! How you got into Ravenclaw, I will never fathom.'

'Yes, yes, yes, sorry, sorry, sorry, now do we know what's actually wrong with them?' Elias's tone is verging on impatient, 'It won't be long till the Ministry are on my tail, Sev, and it's Christmas Eve in three days!'

Severus shudders.

'We're not doing anything for Christmas, are we?'

Elias stares at him like he's gone mad.

'What do you mean, "not doing anything"?! It's Christmas!'

Severus eyes him suspiciously.

'You say that like it's an excuse for everything, when I assure you, in reality it is not. Any attempts at tinsel, carols, and general merriment-'

'Will be met with ice water and Glare No.7, yeah, yeah, I know.'

'And yet you still persist,' mutters Severus, with the aforementioned Glare No.7 (You Are Smiling And I Will Make You Cry Instead) and a particularly vicious stab of his wand in the direction of Lulabelle.

'Eventually, I will break you,' says his friend with disturbing cheerfulness, 'and then you'll be singing God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs as loud and out-of-tune as all the rest of us.'

'Peasants,' mutters Severus, and thinks longingly of the Grinch's cave.

•••

The Official List of What Is Wrong With Elias's Demon Sheep:

\- Failed Beautification Potion

\- Failed Plinkifort Potion

\- Wiggenweld Potion

\- Overexposure to Protection Rune Sequence 22 (Base Eihwaz)

\- Combined Draught of Peace and Cheering Charm

\- Potion 34B (Experimental version)

\- Draught A17 (Version 2)

\- Concentrated essence of Boomslang

'That's a rather long list,' remarks Elias. He actually sounds vaguely impressed, which does worry Severus somewhat.

'We're going to have to brew a ton of antidotes,' he continues, 'I'll have to check my stocks... I was running low on lacewing flies last time I looked... That'll need a trip to Diagon Alley for sure...'

'Oh joy,' mutters Severus, 'Diagon at Christmas.'

'Christmas!' cries Elias, making Severus jump, 'I'd forgotten about Christmas! We'll need a tree, and turkey, and I'll get the decorations down from the attic-'

'What about the Ministry?' interjects Severus hopefully.

Elias waves a dismissive hand.

'They'll be fine for a few more days,' he says, 'and we can't just skip Christmas!'

'I don't mind,' Severus promises, a note of desperation in his voice.

'Nonsense!' Elias says briskly, and by his tone, Severus knows that all is lost.

He wonders if it's too late to run away to a small, unplottable island in the Pacific.

Somewhere with no sheep.

•••

Diagon Alley really is hideous two days before Christmas, thinks Elias as he squeezes between a red-headed woman with a plethora of small and not-so-small boys and a rather portly man carrying a number of bags from the Diagon branch of Honeydukes. The apothecary, when he finally reaches it, is mercifully empty - presumably because no one wants to spend their Christmas in a shop that smells like the wrong end of a Kappa. As well as the lacewing flies, he grabs a couple of scoops of black beetle eyes (they're so cheap here, it's almost rude not to), a plait of unicorn hair (really not cheap at all), some dittany and a murtlap plant. It's a shame they don't sell the essence pre-prepared, but the stuff doesn't really keep, and it's pretty simple to do it himself.

His next stop is Flourish & Blotts, which, unfortunately, is heaving. He makes his way quickly between the rows, grabbing a couple of worthy tomes for the less unpleasant members of the Royal Society as well as the books Severus has written down for him in spiky handwriting. He frowns a bit when he sees _A Moste Anciente Historie Of The Humble Sock_ , but presumes that the enigma that is his friend has his reasons, and, if past experience is anything to go by, those reasons probably start with a D and end with -umbledore. A couple more Christmas presents of his own, and the dreaded trip is over. He's just got time for a quick drink in the Leaky Cauldron before he Apparates back to Wales. Or at least, what would have been a quick drink if he hadn't run into a Society member, an old flame, and couple of Hogwarts friends, all of whom are out doing last minute shopping, and all of whom (apart from the Society bloke, Fritsomm, but he's notoriously stingy) buy him at least one drink - Paul and Azeira Banks buy their little group about seven. When he finally staggers back, Severus won't let him go near the shed (his shed! His own brewing shed!) and insists that he goes to bed instead. Elias does, with much grumbling about how 10.30 is far too early a bedtime for anyone over the age of eleven, and promptly passes out, fully clothed, on top of the covers.

•••

'Murtlap essence.'

Elias passes Severus the Murtlap essence.

'Ladle - no, not that ladle, moron, a clean one.'

Elias passes Severus a clean ladle.

'Beetle eyes.'

Elias passes Severus the beetle eyes.

'Maybe I could help-'

'No.'

'Severus, it's my she-'

'Hold this.'

'My shed, and my sheep-'

'More murtlap.'

Elias sighs, and passes Severus some more murtlap essence.

The potion starts to smoke and Severus freezes.

'Is it meant to do that?' asks Elias curiously, peering over the top. Severus yanks him back just as a column of green fire shoots up from the mixture, and dies back down again just as suddenly.

'Okay, I _know_ it wasn't meant to do _that_ ,' Elias says, staring up at the new skylight in his shed roof. Severus has gotten over his paralysis and is now furiously stirring the luminous orange solution anti-clockwise.

'Of course it was meant to do that,' he snaps irritably. Elias stares at him.

'Right,' he says slowly, and with much disbelief, 'massive green flames were _meant_ to come out of the cauldron and nearly singe my eyebrows off.'

'Yes,' says Severus curtly, now adding clockwise stirs every thirty seconds.

'Are you completely _insane_ -'

'Dittany.'

Elias passes him the dittany.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading - any comments are always welcome.


End file.
